


Moving in Slow Motion

by alpha_exodus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, College, Dorms, First Time, Kent Goes To Samwell, M/M, Porn with Feelings, RAs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: Bitty's room is overbooked at orientation, which means he has to stay in the only available bed left. But that bed is in the RA's room, and the RA in question happens to be Kent Parson.





	Moving in Slow Motion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldstandard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstandard/gifts).



> Hi, giftee!! I apologize in advance for not being able to give you your lawyer AU. I spent a long time wracking my brain for a plot that I both could write accurately and that I could find the motivation for, but after a week or two I realized that unfortunately it just wasn't going to happen.
> 
> However, I've written you what's hopefully a fun (and maybe a little sad in the middle but happy overall) meet-cute, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it <3
> 
> Thanks muchly to F and S for betaing!

Bitty arrives for the first night of Orientation weekend to find out that his room has been overbooked.

“Uh. Hi,” he says, having opened the door to the room that’s supposed to be his. But there are two other boys already unpacking their stuff onto the two twin beds, and they look just as confused as he is. “Sorry, um. I was assigned to 271?”

The two boys look at each other. “Yeah, uh, me too,” the one closer to the door says, pulling out the tag attached to his room key.

“So was I,” the second guy echoes. “We could talk to the orientation leaders about it?”

“Naw,” Bitty says, belatedly annoyed that his accent is already slipping out. “I’ll go get it figured out. Don’t you two worry yourselves.”

“Thanks, dude. Sorry about that!” one of them says as Bitty closes the door. He’s not even sure which one.

Ugh. All that work to finally find his room in this mess of a building, and already something’s gone wrong.

He really, really wants Samwell to be a good thing. He’s got his scholarship, and he already has a spiffy nickname from his new skating coach, but.

But there’s always the chance it could all start sliding downhill, too fast for him to stop even on his fastest laps around the ice.

He trudges back down the stairs toward the check-in table. “Hey,” says the girl who’d checked him in minutes ago. “Need something?”

“Yeah, um, my room already had two guys in it? They said they were assigned the same room as I was.”

She squints at him. “Hmm. What room was it?”

“271,” he says, checking the key still clutched in his hand just to be sure.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, damn—we might’ve… ugh.” She furrows her brow, picking up one of the various packets from the table in front of her and leafing through it. “Oh no, I see what happened. We had an extra key floating around for that room—some maintenance thing. Can I see that key?”

Bitty hands it over, glad that it’s at least not somehow his fault for getting it wrong. “It’s fine if both of them stay in there, I don’t wanna bother anybody.”

“All righty,” the girl says. Bitty’s pretty sure she introduced herself back when he checked in, but he’d forgotten her name in about twenty seconds. On closer inspection, the nametag pinned to her chest says ‘ _Hi, I’m Avery!_ ’, which Bitty is more than thankful for. “I’ll get this figured out for you, but you might have to sit tight for a sec. There’s a bench over there if you wanna chill while I go figure out reassign you?” She gestures to a corner on the opposite wall, and Bitty nods gratefully, glad for a chance to set down his heavy backpack.

The girl pulls a binder out from under the table, flipping through it before stopping and scanning a particular page. Then she sighs and shuts the binder again.

“Hey, Aves, what’s up?” asks a voice from down the hallway, and Bitty turns to look and—dear _Lord_.

His jaw nearly drops open, because in walks probably the hottest guy he’s ever seen in real life, barring his-high-school-crush-who-must-not-be-named and possibly his ninth grade English teacher.

“Oh, Kent—thank God, I was just about to text you. Please tell me the extra rooms haven’t been assigned yet?” Avery leans on the table, looking flustered.

“Uhh—shit, they have, actually,” says Kent, his eyebrows going up. “Wait—is there someone else without a room?”

“Him,” Avery says, nodding toward Bitty. “We accidentally gave him the extra key we had made for 271.” She turns and directs her voice at Bitty with a smile. “Eric, this is Kent. He’s the second floor RA for this year.”

“Call me Bitty,” Bitty blurts out, and immediately he feels his face go red. “I mean, um. Nice to meet you!”

“Hey, Bitty,” Kent says, striding over with his hand extended. Bitty has no choice but to shake it. Kent’s skin is warm and firm and Bitty thinks he dies a little inside when he’s forced to let go. “Sorry about all this. We’ll fix it up for you, don’t worry.”

Despite his ongoing anxiety about the current situation, Bitty has to smile at him. “Thanks.”

“No prob,” Kent says, flashing him a grin that almost looks like a smirk. _God_.  “Hey Aves,” Kent says, turning, “We didn’t have any extras in West Hall, right?”

Bitty suddenly has a burning desire to get a nickname from Kent.

Not that that’s going to happen, because Kent’s an RA and obviously older and probably not gay—and okay, to hell with it, Bitty’s going to daydream about it anyway.

“Nope,” Avery says, shaking her head. “All full.”

“You can put him in my room then,” Kent says.

_Wait—what?_

Bitty stares at him.

“What do you mean?” he can’t stop himself from asking.

“My room was renovated a little while ago, so it’s bigger, and I’ve got two beds in there,” Kent explains without missing a beat. He looks pleased. Bitty doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or run away in embarrassment.

“That would work, actually,” Avery says, and Bitty almost wants to beg her to say differently because there’s no way he’s going to survive an entire night with this guy right across the room, _Lord_.

“That settles it,” Kent says, and oh _God_ , Bitty’s going to have to go straight to bed, because the more waking minutes he spends with Kent, the more of a chance he’s going to say something awkward or inappropriate or all of the above.

“I, um. Are you sure that’s okay?” Bitty asks in a last ditch effort to change his mind.

“Yeah, of course! Couldn’t have you without a bed,” Kent says, and _oh God_ that’s not an innuendo but it _could_ be and Bitty’s skin feels so, so warm.

“I’ll put it in the log,” Avery says with a smile. “Do you have your extra key?”

“Yep, it’s up there. C’mon, Bitty,” Kent gestures towards the stairwell.

Bitty waves a nervous good-bye to Avery, who yawns and then laughs in return, and then against his better judgement he picks up his backpack and follows Kent upstairs.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” says Kent, stopping at the first door on the hall and pulling out a key.

Bitty reads _Kent Parson_ off of the nametag on the door. It’s a nice name. He could fuck a guy with that name.

Immediately Bitty recoils from the thought, because where the _hell_ did that come from? He’s never even kissed a guy, let alone slept with one. And yeah, he’s been looking forward to orientation for weeks because somewhere in the back of his mind he keeps hoping that he’ll finally meet someone, but.

But it’s completely inappropriate to have developed a sudden and intense crush on the RA.

Right?

Bitty resolves to keep his mouth shut as Kent unlocks the door and pushes it open, snapping on the light switch.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Kent says, even though Bitty thinks as he looks around that the room isn’t really that messy.

There’s a pair of socks in the floor which Kent stoops down to pick up as he walks into the room, throwing them into a laundry basket in the corner. A door stands slightly ajar, which Bitty can see leads to a bathroom, and there are two desks shoved together on the near side of the room. Both of them are littered with textbooks and random odds and ends, including an expensive-looking pair of headphones. One of the two wardrobes along the far side of the wall is standing open, revealing a collection of neatly hung polos and button-downs, and there are two beds lined up head-to-head next to that.

“It’s bigger than I would’ve imagined,” Bitty says, belatedly realizing that he’s broken his personal pact of silence.

Kent laughs. “It’s mostly ’cuz it’s an RA room. The rooms that come with the suites are a little smaller. You haven’t been assigned a room for the school year yet, right?”

Bitty shakes his head, walking over and setting his backpack down on the one empty bed. He unzips it, pulling out the sheets that his mother had insisted on packing for him, even though he’d told her that they would have them at orientation. He smiles a little at that. His mama is right more of the time than he usually gives her credit for.

“Oh, are you going to bed already?” Kent asks.

Bitty turns and looks at him. Kent’s leaning back against one of the desks, casual as anything, eyeing him speculatively. Bitty imagines that maybe if they were in a club or a bar or something, Kent might be getting ready to ask if he could buy him a drink. Except that they’re in a dorm room and Bitty’s only eighteen and there’s no way in hell that Kent’s going to hit on him.

“Um,” Bitty says, “I think I have to get up early tomorrow?”

Kent laughs. “It’s only eight. But you know, be my guest. I can hang out in the lounge if you wanna get some sleep.”

“Oh! Um, you don’t have to do that,” Bitty says, flushing. He doesn’t want to make life hard for Kent, not at all. “I can stay up a lil’ while.”

Kent chuckles a little, and Bitty’s about ninety-eight percent sure it’s because of how his accent just slipped out. But Kent is still staring at him and _God_ , he’s hot, all lean muscle and smirking eyes, even in the t-shirt and cargo shorts he happens to be wearing. Bitty can’t bother to be offended.

“It’s up to you. I can also answer any questions about college life if you want me to,” Kent offers, shrugging.

Bitty abandons the sheets he’s been holding, hopping up onto the bed next to them instead. Because he does have questions—is it really, really okay to be gay here? Can he be out and proud like the rumors he’s heard— _one in four, maybe more_ , one of the brochures had quoted, the one on diversity and inclusivity, the one with an entire section devoted to LGBTQ+ resources and establishments.

But he’s not sure if he’s really comfortable asking those questions to some guy he’s just met, because—because what if Kent’s not comfortable with that? Bitty could be shunned, or worse, maybe Kent wouldn’t want him in his room anymore, and Bitty would have to walk back downstairs and tell Avery some lie, like that the room was too small after all, and—

“Hey. You okay?” Kent asks.

“I’m fine!” Bitty blurts out. “I was thinking about, um. Drinking! I mean. Do you guys really drink all the time? Or, uh, I guess I shouldn’t ask the RA that,” he backtracks, and he knows he’s blushing like mad but Kent only gives a throaty chuckle.

“People in college drink all the time, yeah,” Kent tells him. “Even RAs. I wouldn’t recommend getting too crazy in the dorms, ’cuz technically we do have to report you if you get caught. But,” he says, pushing himself off of the desk and walking over to the open wardrobe, reaching up to the high shelf and pulling down a bottle of clear liquor, “Even I drink in my room sometimes. Just don’t be obvious about it,” he gestures with the bottle.

“Oh,” Bitty says, and he kind of expected that answer but he’s a little surprised that Kent’s being so open about it.

“I guess you could technically get me in trouble for this,” Kent says. “Although, they can’t really do anything more than a slap on the wrist since I’m over-age.”

Bitty briefly thinks about how he wouldn’t mind slapping Kent on the wrist, then backs away from that thought in mild horror and clears his throat. “I wouldn’t get you in trouble anyway.”

Kent laughs. “Thanks,” he says, stashing the bottle back in the top of the closet. “Have you ever gotten drunk before?”

Bitty shakes his head no. He never hung out with the crowd that partied in school, and though every now and then Coach gave him a beer at some family gathering or another, he was always careful not to let himself get carried away. He’s scared the alcohol might loosen his lips, might make him say things that he would never say sober.

Kent’s eyes flick back to the bottle in the wardrobe. “Wanna?”

Bitty swallows. “Huh?”

“Wanna drink?” Kent asks. “Totally no pressure. Technically I _could_ get in trouble for this, but, ah. Orientation’s always a little wild anyways.”

Bitty stares at him. On one hand, well. Drinking could probably could get _him_ in trouble too, not just with those in charge but with the way his mouth likes to run off and spout his innermost thoughts when he’s not looking.

But on the other hand… he’s a whole bundle of nerves right now, and Kent is hot, and there’s still the lingering flutter of a daydream in the back of his mind that maybe, maybe something could happen.

So he says, “Yeah, sure,” and when Kent gives him a toothy grin he decides immediately not to regret it no matter how much trouble he gets himself into.

He hops off the bed as Kent reaches up and grabs the liquor again. Now that Bitty’s closer, he can tell it’s vodka. “Sorry,” Kent says, “I don’t have any mixers right now. Shots okay?”

“Sounds good,” Bitty says, even though he’s never taken a shot before and he’s fairly sure he’s about to embarrass himself.

Kent pulls out a couple of plastic shot glasses, setting them down on the edge of the desk and filling both most of the way. Bitty walks over and goes to pick one up just as Kent goes to do the same, and Bitty jumps so hard that he almost knocks both of them over.

Kent chuckles, then frowns a little. “Shit, sorry, you probably haven’t taken a shot before, right? Sorry if I made you nervous.”

“I haven’t,” Bitty says, because he’ll take any excuse for Kent not to know that Bitty’s nervous because of some stupid crush.

“You don’t have to drink it all at once,” Kent says, picking up his glass. Bitty does the same, suppressing a shiver when Kent clinks his own against Bitty’s. “Make sure you don’t breathe in when you’re doing it, ’cuz the vapors might make you choke.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, then watches as Kent tilts his head and neatly throws his shot back in one swallow, one that makes his Adam’s apple bob and also makes Bitty’s dick twitch in his jeans. _God_.

“Now you,” Kent says, and Bitty takes a deep breathe, putting the glass to his lips and tilting it into his mouth. He swallows quickly, shivering at the burn that seeps down his throat, and he manages not to splutter or make a face but he also only manages to drink half of the shot. Quickly, he repeats the action, more confident now as the alcohol hits his stomach.

“That wasn’t too bad,” he says, and Kent grins at him.

“Want another?”

“Sure.”

They stop after two, though, and Bitty takes a moment to actually start putting the sheets on his bed. Kent helps him with a smile, even though Bitty tells him he doesn’t have to, and every time Kent passes behind him to fix this or that corner, Bitty feels a little light-headed.

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or a crush.

When they’re done, Kent hops up on the edge of his own bed, and Bitty follows suit, sitting cross-legged on his freshly sheeted mattress.

“Do you like being an RA?” Bitty asks.

“It has its ups and downs,” Kent admits. “Being on-call is pretty shit, ’cuz you gotta be pretty much glued to your floor, but other than that it’s pretty fun. It’s nice to show new kids around, and you get free housing.”

“Oh, neat,” Bitty says, and Lord, Kent keeps _looking_ at him, and of course that’s normal because they’re having a conversation but also it’s kind of setting Bitty’s veins on fire. “Do you all have to work all summer?”

“Not everyone,” Kent tells him. “Aves and I volunteered to live in this building for orientation, and there are a couple others in the other building too. I wanted to move in early for hockey season anyway,” he explains, and Bitty perks up.

“You play hockey?”

“Yeah!” Kent leans forward, grinning. “You?”

“Used to, in middle school,” Bitty tells him. “But mostly I do figure skating.”

“Oh geez, that shit looks hard.” Kent looks mildly impressed, and Bitty feels the slow syrup of satisfaction spread through his body.

“I’ve been doing it since I was little, so,” Bitty says, shrugging. “Usually people aren’t so, um. Impressed, I guess?”

“You from the South?” Kent asks, and Bitty flushes and nods, because of course his accent would give him away. Kent winces. “No offence to any of you guys, but I’ve heard it’s—you know. Difficult to be anything other than masculine down there.”

“It is,” Bitty admits, for the first time in his entire Goddamned life. “I, uh. I almost quit figure-skating and joined hockey full time, but my high school started instituting checking, and I just. I couldn’t.”

Kent gives a knowing eye-roll. “Totally fair. I got concussed once, my freshman year. God, that sucked.”

“I can imagine,” Bitty says in abject horror. The mere thought of that makes him want to shudder, and maybe that has to do with being locked in the storage closet that time but—well, he doesn’t have to deal with checking anymore, and he’s mighty glad about that.

Kent gets up, walking back over to the desk and pouring himself another shot. “You don’t have to have another,” he tells Bitty, and Bitty is glad for it. “My tolerance is a lot higher now than it was freshman year.”

“I don’t really know anything about mine,” Bitty says, eyes glued to Kent’s throat as he throws back the third drink and heads back to sit on his bed again.

“We should take it slow, then,” says Kent, and he’s smiling and _God_ , does that sound like a pick-up line. Except then he adds, “You honestly don’t wanna know when you’re at your upper limit for drinking. It’ll make you really fucking sick in the morning.”

Bitty’s eyes widen, because being hungover on the first day of orientation does not sound like something he has any desire to do. “Ugh,” he says, wrinkling his eyebrows. “Have you gotten really drunk before?”

Kent winces. “Uh, yeah. You could say that,” he says, and Bitty immediately knows he’s treading on some intimate waters by the way Kent instantly draws in on himself.

“Oh—sorry,” Bitty apologizes quickly. “You don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

“Nah, ’s fine,” Kent says, shaking his head. “I’ve just had some pretty shitty drinking experiences. They were all a while ago, though. At one point I quit for a while.”

“Huh,” Bitty says. He’s surprised. His first impression of Kent was definitely that he was a party boy.

“Obviously I drink now,” Kent tells him, smiling wryly over at the vodka bottle. “But I try not to get too crazy.”

“Probably a good thing,” Bitty says, and Kent laughs.

Bitty’s skin is starting to feel hot now, which he’s fairly sure is because of the alcohol seeping into his veins, but it might also have to do with the way Kent arches a brow at him then and asks, “How’re you feeling?”

_Like I might combust if you keep smirking at me like that_ , Bitty thinks. Instead he says, “Good! Kinda warm?”

“Want me to open the window?” Kent asks, and Bitty rapidly shakes his head because oh, _Lord_ , what if something actually happened—not that it will, but. He doesn’t want to risk anyone being able to look in on them.

“No, I’m good,” Bitty says, the words coming out choked.

“All right,” Kent says, scooting back so he can lean against the wall. “So, Bitty. What do you like to do besides figure skating?”

_Fantasize about making out with hot guys_ , he thinks but definitely does not say. “Um. I bake?”

“Oh?” Kent’s eyes light up. “Like what? My sister loves baking.”

“Anything, really. Mostly pies,” Bitty says. “But I’ve made everythin’ from tarts to cakes to crème brulee.” He almost starts rambling right then and there, but he holds his tongue, because Lord knows this boy does _not_ deserve the hour-long description of everything Bitty’s ever tried to bake.

“I’m jealous,” Kent says easily, briefly stretching his arms. “My sister always tried to teach me, but I could never get the hang of it.”

“Oh, um—” _I could teach you_ , Bitty wants to say, but he changes his mind at the last second. “It’s not for everyone.”

“You should teach me something,” Kent says, leaning forward, and oh _God_ , he cannot be reading Bitty’s mind right now.

“I—well, I don’t really have anything to bake right now, but, um. If you wanna see, I have a vlog?”

“That sounds fun,” Kent says, eyes bright, and if he seemed any less enthusiastic about it then Bitty would never have showed him, but.

But Kent’s leaning toward him, almost like he’s actually interested in Bitty in more ways than one, and Bitty really, truly wants that to be the case.

“I’ll get my computer, if you really want me to,” Bitty offers.

“Sure,” Kent says, grinning, and Bitty can’t help but beam back, because Lord knows the only ones at home who’re interested in his baking are his Mama and MooMaw.

He slides off the bed and pulls his laptop out of his bag. “Um, should we sit somewhere?”

“You can come sit on my bed, if that’s not weird or anything,” Kent says, and oh _God_ , what the hell is Bitty getting himself into?

“Sure!” he squeaks out, carrying his laptop over next to Kent. And Lord, he can smell him now, the scent’s all over as he hops up into the bed, not _too_ close but close enough to tell that Kent smells like shampoo and warmth and a little bit like alcohol.

“Want a pillow to lean on?” Kent asks, already reaching over to grab one, so Bitty can’t possibly say no. He nods, accepting it with hands that almost want to shake, setting it behind him so he can lean against the wall.

He logs into his computer, pulling up the browser and hitting the bookmark for his youtube link. “Anythin’ in particular you wanna see?” he asks, scrolling slowly down his channel. And ugh, there’s his accent again, and hopefully Kent doesn’t recognize that it’s a dead giveaway that Bitty’s nervous—which, of _course_ , because Kent’s _right there_ , leaning over him to look at the most recently posted videos on his page.

“That looks fun,” Kent says, pointing at a video that Bitty almost scrolls past.

“Oh Lord, hun, I don’t think you’re ready for soufflé,” he says, then automatically blanches, because _hell_ , he just called Kent _hun_. “I—um, sorry! If that was, um, weird. The nickname, I mean, um, it’s a Southern thing?”

Kent chuckles. “Don’t apologize. It’s cute.”

“I mean, it’s just, everyone down there does it and I’ve sorta just picked it up—I. Oh! Thank you?” Bitty says, and God, his face is heating faster than a frying pan in August.

Kent _can’t_ mean it like Bitty wants him to.

But damn it all, Bitty really fucking wishes he did.

“Anytime,” Kent says smoothly, like it’s _nothing_ , and now he’s already looking back at the computer screen. “Fine, if that’s too complicated, hmm… cookies?”

He points to the video where Bitty had painstakingly compared and contrasted several chocolate chip cookie recipes, and Bitty smiles and clicks on it. “A little more in your comfort zone, I would hope,” he comments, and then they both briefly get lost in the world of flour and sugar and chocolate chips versus chunks.

Bitty tries as best as he can not to let his mind wander, but he can’t ignore the fact that Kent’s _right there_ , staring almost avidly at the computer in Bitty’s lap and laughing in all the right places, saying, “Oh, is that your mom?” when Mama pops on-screen, just home from the grocery store, with a breezy hello and a wave.

“Yep!” Bitty says brightly. “She’s—well, my best friend, honestly.”

“Cool,” Kent says, and he’s still watching the video but it’s obvious he’s a little distracted when he says, “I kinda wish I was closer with my own mom.”

“Aw,” Bitty says. “That’s a shame. Did somethin’ happen?”

Kent shrugs. “Nothing big. We kinda just grew apart, you know. There were—there were things I couldn’t really tell her about, when I started growing up.”

Bitty recalls the tight knot of fear in his chest that forms whenever he sees a gay actor or actress on TV with his mother and thinks that he knows what Kent means. “I guess that’s part of growing up, though,” he says carefully. “You know?”

“Definitely,” Kent says with a nod. “Just kinda sucks. Anyway, your mom seems sweet.”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, and she is, really. Just. He wishes he could tell her.

But he hasn’t told anyone yet, let alone his parents. The risks are too high.

He sighs as the video ends, looking at Kent, nervousness brewing under his ribcage. “Kent? Can I, um, ask you another question?”

Kent perks up, turning toward him. “Yeah, of course!”

Bitty swallows hard. “Is it really—um. Okay, you know when you were talking about, like, masculinity or whatever? Earlier?”

“Mhmm,” Kent hums with a nod. “What about it?”

“I guess, just, uh.” God, this is so hard, and Bitty kind of wishes he could backtrack but it’s already halfway out there, and Kent _has_ to have guessed by now, because Bitty’s pretty damn sure that his crush is written all over his face. “Is it really okay to be like that here? Like, un-masculine?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Kent says, looking faintly surprise. “People are pretty good at not fucking with you for being different, around campus at least.”

“Oh, good,” Bitty says, allowing a faint smile to come to his lips. He _is_ relieved, but it’s not quite what he wanted to ask in the first place.

He’s lost his momentum, though, and he’s about to turn the conversation back to baking when Kent looks away and says, “I’m gay, you know.”

Bitty whips his head up so fast it’s embarrassing. “Oh! That’s—that’s great!” And Lord, now he sounds homophobic, of all things, _God_.

Kent snickers. “It’s all right. I just meant… Well, when I was dating my—my ex, I guess. We weren’t out to everyone, but no one reacted all that weirdly when we told them, and we used to hold hands and shit around town.”

“Aww, that’s… that’s real nice,” Bitty says, but he can hear the traces of melancholy in Kent’s tone. “I’m sorry you guys aren’t together anymore.”

Kent shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s fine. It was kinda inevitable. He didn’t—well, he didn’t really want me, and I couldn’t get it through my brain. I followed him here, you know,” he says, eyeing Bitty and sighing. “We’re okay now. Just sucks.”

Bitty goes to pat him on the arm reflexively, but then, oh God, he can’t stop himself from shivering because Kent’s arm is warm and muscular and he wants nothing more than to keep his hand there.

But he doesn’t. He pulls himself away and looks longingly over at the alcohol, because the buzz he’d had is wearing off and he really kind of needs the courage it granted him.

Kent notices, of course. “Want more?”

“Sure,” Bitty says. “If that’s all right.”

“Yeah,” Kent replies, sliding off the bed and walking over to pour another shot. Bitty closes his laptop and is surprised when Kent screws the top on the bottle with only Bitty’s glass filled.

“Are you not gonna?” Bitty asks, and Kent laughs almost hollowly.

“Nah, I shouldn’t. I’m already getting a little, uh. Dramatic, I guess,” he admits, passing Bitty the shot glass. “We’ll be even if you take this one, though.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, chasing off his minor case of embarrassment and swallowing the shot as quickly as he can. “Thanks,” he adds, grateful for the flash of numbness he feels when the liquid hits his stomach. “I—for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re being too dramatic.”

Kent grins at him, climbing back onto the bed. “Really? I’m pretty sure it only gets worse. Next thing you know, I’ll be unloading my entire tragic backstory, and you’ll have to sit here and listen to it all.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Bitty tells him honestly. “You’re—you’re fun to talk to.”

“Really? Aww, thanks,” Kent says, grinning. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

And God, Bitty’s never really flirted before, but maybe if Kent was his age and not the RA, just maybe Kent would be hitting on him.

But they’re still sitting a foot away from each other on the bed, and Kent lets out a yawn just then, and God, Bitty does not want to go to sleep just yet.

“Wanna watch more?” he suggests, gesturing to his laptop.

“Sure,” Kent says, but when Bitty turns to pick up the computer, he hears Kent sigh. “Hang on.”

Oh God, oh God, he’s done something wrong and Kent’s not going to want to hang out with him anymore. “What?” he says, his voice coming out wispy like steam from a pie.

“I wanna apologize,” Kent says, bowing his head.

Bitty’s heart thuds in his chest. “Why would you wanna do that?”

Kent huffs a laugh, turning to look at him. “I’ve been being kind of, uh. Inappropriate. And like, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything, so. Just. Sorry.”

Bitty stares at him. “Wait. Um. What do you mean?”

“God, you’re cute,” Kent says, cracking a smile.

_What?_

“I was hitting on you,” Kent continues. “And I shouldn’t be. It’s completely wrong of me, and I’m like, probably abusing my power or something—”

“You were hitting on me?” Bitty’s mouth falls open, and he digs his nails into his palms because Kent’s looking at him with a soft smile in his eyes, something like a mix of resignation and embarrassment on his lips, and he’s just said he was _hitting_ on him.

Kent laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, I was. Hell, I can’t believe you didn’t notice, but. I guess that’s probably for the better, huh?”

Bitty stares at him. Slowly, he shakes his head. “I noticed,” he says quietly.

Kent furrows his brow. “Oh? Sorry—”

“I just thought I was imagining it because I—I wanted it too much,” Bitty blurts out, and then he has to shut his eyes and look away.

Kent doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Bitty’s heart pangs, almost burns as the loneliness beats in his chest.

Then he hears Kent shift.

There’s a hand on Bitty’s chin, and Bitty opens his eyes as Kent ever-so-gently turns his face toward him. “You mean that?” Kent asks softly.

Bitty nods because the words just won’t come, his throat is too tight.

Kent gives a smile that’s almost a smirk. “Then I won’t apologize,” he says, and then he leans in.

_God_.

Kent’s mouth is so, so hot when he presses it against Bitty’s, and he lingers for longer than Bitty expects, as if he’s putting his whole soul into this one kiss. Except then he kisses him again, again, cupping Bitty’s jaw in his palm and setting his very being on fire, swiping his tongue into Bitty’s mouth like he can’t get enough.

Bitty’s just letting himself relax into it (even though he can’t really relax because his chest is burning and he’s breathing so fast and he wants nothing more than to cling to Kent like a lifeline) when Kent stops.

“Wait. Shit. How old are you? Fuck, I’m sorry,” Kent says, looking like he wants to pull away completely.

“I’m eighteen,” Bitty says hurriedly, grabbing onto Kent’s hand, because he _wants_ this, he really does.

“I’m a lot older than you, you know,” Kent tells him, looking stricken. “Like. I just turned twenty-three, you do realize? And—God, I’m the RA, and you’re—you could be drunk. Fuck.”

Bitty’s lip trembles, because it sounds like Kent wants to stop and he really, really doesn’t want him to, because even though he’s older and everything else, this is Bitty’s first time ever kissing a boy and it felt better than he ever imagined and he _doesn’t want to stop_.

“I’m not drunk,” he says. He’s a little bubbly but not totally incapacitated or whatever—but he adds, “I think,” just to be sure. “And I—I don’t care, about you being older or being an RA or anything. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. It’s not like I want you to get in trouble.”

Kent sighs, looks down, smiles a sad smile. “I’m not worried about getting in trouble. I trust you,” he says, and Bitty’s heart throbs. “I’m just—I don’t wanna take advantage of you.”

“You’re not,” Bitty says honestly. “I promise.”

“You sure?” Kent asks, his voice a little husky, looking back up and rubbing his thumb lightly over Bitty’s cheek.

Bitty nods. “I’m sure,” he says.

This time, Bitty’s the one who leans in.

Somehow Kent must’ve been holding back before, because now the kisses are more intense, more fervent than they even were a minute ago. Bitty slips his arms around Kent’s waist and is overwhelmingly pleased when Kent moans into his mouth, slides a hand up into Bitty’s hair and tugs at it just the slightest bit.

“Oh,” Bitty gasps, because he hadn’t even known that would feel good, and Kent pulls back to grin at him playfully.

“Have you done this before?” Kent asks, his other hand drifting down to Bitty’s waist, making his dick throb in his pants.

“Do I have to say?” Bitty replies self-consciously, because God, he doesn’t want Kent to know that he’s completely new to anything and everything, and besides that he doesn’t even know what ‘this’ _means_.

“Nah, not if you don’t want,” Kent says, and that hand on Bitty’s waist is slipping down, down, then suddenly up, under his shirt now, making Bitty whimper. “Just promise you’ll tell me to stop if you don’t wanna keep going.”

“Okay,” Bitty says. “Please don’t stop.”

Kent chuckles. “Sure, Bits.”

Bitty’s heart swells, but he barely has time to think about the nickname because then Kent’s pushing him back onto the mattress and kissing him again. “God,” Bitty mumbles into Kent’s lips.

Kent hums a laugh, hand hot on Bitty’s bare waist, Bitty’s shirt riding up against Kent’s arm. Kent shifts, and Bitty’s both astonished and aroused to feel that, hell, Kent’s hard against his leg, Kent _wants_ him.

Then Kent shifts his hand lower, thumbing at the waistband of Bitty’s jeans, and Bitty _moans_.

“Heh,” Kent chuckles. “Any last words?”

“Ugh,” Bitty groans in embarrassment, briefly covering his face with his arm. Then, softer, he sighs, “Kent.”

“Yeah?” Kent asks, his hand still frustratingly warm as it traces Bitty’s hip.

“I want you,” Bitty says, pulling his hand away so that he can stare into Kent’s eyes—he’d thought they were blue before, but now they look sort of hazel, a mix of deep green and an oaky brown.

Kent’s face splits into a smile. “I’m right here,” he says, and Bitty kind of wants to cry because he sounds so _sure_ , even though there’s no way that this can be more than a hook-up and Bitty shouldn’t read more than that into this, not at all.

“Do your worst,” Bitty tells him, letting out a gasp when Kent’s fingers drift over to the button on his pants.

“I’d rather my best, if you don’t mind,” Kent says, but Bitty can’t even bring himself to reply because Kent’s shifting, crawling lower on Bitty’s body, undoing his jeans almost more easily than Bitty could have himself and pressing his hand, warm and firm, right into the bulge in Bitty’s boxers.

“Hnngh,” Bitty groans, his hips bucking up in a motion he can’t prevent.

“Yeah?” Kent says, a teasing glint in his eye.

“You’re terrible,” Bitty says, shaking his head. “I mean! I, um, don’t mean that. I like you. But. Um. Please.”

Kent laughs, dipping his fingers under the waistband of Bitty’s boxers, dragging them along with his jeans down just enough so that he frees Bitty’s cock.

It’s almost embarrassing to have Kent looking at him so closely like this, to have him eyeing Bitty’s flushed face and rucked-up shirt and the curve of his dick, hard and leaking against his stomach.

But Kent looks back up at his face and murmurs, “I hope you know you’re beautiful,” and Bitty’s lungs seize in a mixture of surprise and the fiercest contentment he’s ever felt.

“Th-thank you,” he mumbles, and then Kent takes him in hand and leans his head down and, oh _God_ , he’s going to—“Kent, _Kent_ ,” Bitty nearly sobs as Kent sucks him down so far he can feel his dick hit the back of Kent’s throat.

Kent snickers, pulling off briefly. “Never been deep-throated, huh?” he asks, but he doesn’t leave time for Bitty to get a word in before he takes him into his mouth again, hot and tight and slippery around his cock.

It feels so good it’s almost painful. Bitty has to fist his hands into the sheets in an effort not to cry out, but it doesn’t work all the way, and little cries leak out of his mouth every time Kent bobs his head down further than any human should be able to, _Lord_.

Kent has one hand holding Bitty’s dick steady and the other curled around the bone of Bitty’s hip, anchoring him down, because he might either explode or float away if he weren’t held to the bed like this. Every so often Kent looks up at him with a smile in his eyes, and Bitty smiles back around his moans, because God, if Bitty’s beautiful, then Kent is drop-dead gorgeous.

He wants to touch Kent and so he does, disentangling one hand from the sheets and reaching down to card his fingers through Kent’s hair. Thinking back to earlier, Bitty lightly fists his hand and tugs, and _oh_ —

He’s not expecting the way Kent gives a full body shudder, but Lord, he loves it.

Experimentally, he reaches his other hand down and coils those fingers into Kent’s hair too, and the next time Kent pulls up, he slowly pushes Kent’s head back down, until Kent’s nose is nuzzled into Bitty’s pubic hair.

Kent _groans_. His eyes fly shut and Bitty can hear his breathing escalate and Lord, he’d heard that you’re not supposed to push when someone’s giving you a blow-job because you can hurt them, but Kent seems to _like_ it, and besides he has what seems to be a gag reflex of steel, and—

And Kent flicks his eyes open and nods at Bitty when he pulls back up, so Bitty does it again.

He doesn’t realize until a moment later that he’s picked a pace faster than Kent had before, but when he slows down, Kent looks up at him with a furrowed brow, squeezing at Bitty’s hip, and pulls off. “You don’t—” he starts, then has to clear his throat because his voice comes out rusty. “You don’t have to worry about hurting me. I can take it.”

“You sure?” Bitty asks, and Kent grins cheekily.

“Sure. I gotta have a big mouth for something,” he says, eyebrow arched, and then he leans back down and takes Bitty back into his mouth and hell, Bitty’s not going to last long at all.

He’d been battling with nerves before, but now he finally lets go, lets his senses take over as he tightens his fists in Kent’s hair, feels him shudder over Bitty’s body. It feels so good that Bitty wants to cry, and then he does, just a little, a few tears leaking from his eyes as Kent overwhelms him with the tight, wet friction of his mouth.

“P-please,” Bitty shudders out, pushing Kent’s head down a little too fast, but Kent takes it, groaning again, and then Bitty tries to pull him off because _oh God_ , he’s so close, but Kent won’t stop, only going faster, faster, and—“Oh, God, _Kent_ —”

And then Bitty’s voice is gone as he lets out one whimpery moan after another, as he shudders and spills down Kent’s throat, as Kent takes him by the hips and holds him steady and continues to ravish him, and oh, “Oh, _K-Kent_.”

Kent slows his motion as Bitty comes down, only bobbing his head around the tip, and then he stops completely, pulling off and sitting up to crack his back. “That’s it, baby,” he says breathily, still panting, and grins.

Bitty feels boneless. Still, he reaches for Kent’s face, and Kent complies, leaning down to kiss him lightly, once, twice.

It’s when Bitty reaches down to press his hand against the hardness in Kent’s pants that Kent stops him.

“Hey,” Kent says, pulling his hips away. “You don’t gotta.”

Bitty’s brow wrinkles. “I—I want to.”

But Kent smiles the same sad smile he’d been wearing before, reaching up to brush Bitty’s now-sweaty hair away from his face. “Maybe later, okay?”

It hurts when Bitty swallows. “Okay,” he says, and Kent leans down and kisses his forehead before climbing off the bed and heading through the bathroom door.

Despite the vodka shots, Bitty has never felt more sober in his life.

God, what has he done?

Slowly, he rights his pants, the shame building as he climbs out of Kent’s bed and into his own. He realizes only belatedly that his mother had given him sheets but not a blanket or a pillow, so he only has the thin cloth of the top sheet to press his face into as loneliness brands him once again.

It smells like home.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he was there instead.

He honestly expects Kent to ignore him when he comes back from the bathroom.

He doesn’t expect to hear a soft sigh, to feel the mattress dip as another body climbs into bed with him.

“Hey,” Kent says.

Bitty doesn’t respond. He can’t. He doesn’t know what Kent’s thinking, not at all, and this is only a hook-up but he’s still waiting, waiting for the ‘ _no hard feelings_ ’ talk, and Kent hadn’t even let him _touch_ him, God, what was he thinking?

Kent takes in a breath that almost sounds ragged, and it sends a spiral of shock down Bitty’s spine.

But not as much as when Kent leans closer and asks, “Can I hold you?”

Bitty lets out a gasp and nods into the sheets and then Kent’s enveloping him in his arms, laying down next to him and cuddling him close. Bitty buries his face in Kent’s chest and breathes in the smell of him— _maybe for the last time_ , his brain adds, but Goddamnit he has this moment now and he’s not going to let sourness spoil it.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Kent breathes into Bitty’s hair.

“Not your fault,” Bitty gasps, and he’s startled to realize he’s crying.

Kent tugs him closer yet, starts rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. “I made you sad.”

Bitty shakes his head, trying his best to calm down. Kent’s touch is nice. It helps. “I just—I wanted more than… more than I should expect you to give.”

“Bitty,” Kent says, pulling back so that Bitty has no choice but to look at him. “Hey. I don’t sleep with people I don’t like, you know?”

Kent has his mouth open to continue when Bitty interrupts him with, “Is it even sleeping together if you don’t even let me touch you?”

Kent lets his jaw clamp shut. He sighs. “I deserved that. I just—I haven’t, y’know… done anything. Since I was with my ex. And I didn’t wanna force you or anything either, and. Ugh. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Bitty squeezes his eyes closed, remorse hitting him like a truck. “You—you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry too. I’m—God, I’m just a stupid freshman, aren’t I? That was my first time doing, like, anything, and now I’m awful attached and I _shouldn’t_ be, and—and I’m sorry,” the words rattle from his chest.

“ _Bits_ ,” Kent says, pulling him close again. “You’re not stupid. Hell knows I remember how that feels, and—and it’s not like I’m not attached to you. You know?”

It’s the kind of promise that lives in the vacuum of this moment, the kind of words that Bitty’s almost sure will evaporate when the morning sun creeps in through the window.

He clings to them anyway, because maybe if he holds on tightly enough there won’t be room for them to slip away.

“Okay,” Bitty says, and then he presses his face back into Kent’s chest because he doesn’t want to talk anymore.

It’s warm enough in the room that he falls asleep there in Kent’s arms, without a blanket or even a pillow.

He wakes up in the morning alone, wrapped in the blanket from Kent’s bed, with a note on top of his bag that says, _Had to leave for Orientation set-up_ , and then a phone number scrawled below that. _Call me if you need me_.

Bitty thinks maybe he’ll see Kent around during the day, but he doesn’t. Around six o’clock, just as he’s going to dinner, Avery brings him a note that says they’ve found him a room to stay in for the rest of orientation, and that Kent’s already brought his things over.

That’s it. It’s done, then.

Bitty forces himself to enjoy orientation, throwing himself into the tour and the activities and his scheduled meeting with his skating coach and even the party the second night with as much vigor as he can stand.

It’s only when he’s home in Georgia, wrapped up in sheets that don’t smell like Kent, that he starts to need him, needs him so much that it sets his chest on fire.

But he stares at the number on the little sheet of paper, now crumpled, and doesn’t call.

xXx

When Bitty steps foot onto campus again, he’s put Kent Parson immediately out of him mind.

Which is, of course, why the universe assigns Kent to be his statistics TA.

Bitty does as best as he can to shrink into himself, to hide at the back of the class so Kent can’t see him. But since apparently he has the worst luck in the world, the professor assigns homework at the end of the class (“It’s just a diagnostic to see how much you know!” she says, ignoring the fact that this is going to be Bitty’s complete and utter downfall). Kent gets up to pass them out.

Bitty’s sitting at the end of the row. He never had a chance.

He can tell the exact moment that Kent sees him, because they lock eyes and for just a moment, Kent freezes.

When Kent moves, it’s almost in slow motion. He hands a tidy stack of print-outs to the boy in front of him, and then walks over and hands a set to Bitty, too.

His eyes don’t leave Bitty’s until he starts walking away.

They’re dismissed. Bitty packs his bag and bolts from the room, quietly panicking about the best way to avoid Kent for the entire semester, and he’s walking so quickly that he doesn’t even notice Kent waiting for him outside of the classroom. He keeps walking, heading toward the quad, back to his room, maybe, when he hears someone run up from behind him.

“Bitty!”

This time, it’s Bitty who freezes.

“Bitty, wait,” Kent says, and when Bitty turns around, Kent’s reaching toward him.

Bitty flinches.

Kent’s eyes go wide. He looks stricken.

He drops his hand.

“God, Bitty, I’m so sorry,” he says, and it sounds like the truest thing Bitty’s ever heard.

Kent’s mouth opens again, but then he says nothing, closes it and shakes his head.

He turns to walk away.

This time, it’s Bitty who reaches out.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, latching onto Kent’s wrist, and they’re kind of in the middle of the quad but this is more important than worrying about being in public.

Kent looks back at him, something shattered in his eyes. “Is that all?”

Bitty sucks in a shaky breath. “No.”

“You didn’t call,” Kent says, looking down. “I thought—I thought that you had wanted to leave, or that I’d hurt you and you never wanted—I thought—God, Bits, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I dunno if that’s creepy, or wrong, or unwanted but. I just couldn’t, so.”

Bitty swallows thickly. “I wished I could stop thinking about you.”

“Did it work?”

Bitty laughs hollowly. “No.”

When Kent opens his arms, Bitty goes willingly, pressing himself around Kent as tightly as he can.

“I’m—I’m glad,” Kent says, and the words come out a little shaky.

“You were my first everything,” Bitty says, pulling back to look at him. “I couldn’t get you out of my head no matter how much I baked.”

“But you wanted to.”

“Only because you—” Bitty stops, shakes his head, willing the words to fall out of his mouth. “I thought if you really wanted to talk to me again, you’d come find me or something. I mean, you knew where my room was, and I… I didn’t want to be… you know. A burden.”

“Babe, no,” Kent says, furrowing his brow. “I just thought you wanted space. I don’t know if I came across very well when we were—when we were together, but. I _like_ you.”

Bitty’s lip trembles, and he bites down on it just to make it stop. “Really?”

“Yes!” Kent tells him emphatically. “I wouldn’t have given you my number otherwise.”

Taking a breath to steady himself, Bitty slowly nods. “I’m sorry,” he says again, but Kent shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize. Just—tell me you want me around, and I’ll be here. I mean. If you want me to.” He looks nervous and hopeful and scared all at once, and Bitty wants nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug, to take him home and feed him pie and laugh about how silly they’ve both been.

“Stay, Kent. Stay with me,” Bitty says, and Kent’s face breaks into a smile.

Kent hugs him close again. “I’m not good at getting left,” he tells him. “You should know that, if we’re gonna do this.”

“Well,” Bitty says, relief spinning in his chest because Kent wants him, Kent wants _him_. “Apparently you’re my TA, so I’m gonna have to stick around at least for this semester, you know.”

Kent wrinkles his nose. “We should probably check and make sure there aren’t rules against that,” he says, but then he pulls away, reaches down and takes Bitty’s hand. “C’mon. I’ll take you to lunch.”

Finally, Bitty lets himself smile. “Okay.”


End file.
